Oh No, Not Again!

It's been a while since I posted a blog article. I'm sorry about that, but I'm so busy these days, it's hard to find the time. I want to mention something that happened the day after the events in my last post ("A Bit of Chivalry," April 30, 2008). To review, that article is about me helping a total stranger, on the way to Victoria Bus Station, in London.
On the following day, I was on my way back home, from Withernsea. It was raining and cold, so I decided to treat myself to a taxi ride home, from the Bracknell train station. When I walked out of the front of the station, all the taxis had pulled off with other passengers. There was one couple who'd missed the last taxi. For some strange reason, these two rocket scientists were standing at the end of the taxi rank, where they had just missed the last cab. They weren't moving to the front of the queue, so as to be in place when the next cab pulls up. This left me in a dilemma. Should I go stand with them, being that they were there ahead of me, or should I go stand at the front, where they should have moved?
After a brief few moments pondering this, one of life's profound questions, I decided to stand at the front, where they should have been. I figured that if they noticed me at the front, they might wake up and come there. If they did and said anything about being in queue first, I'd defer to them. On the other hand, if they were too stupid to cotton on and move to where they were supposed to be, and they didn't say anything, I'd take the first cab that comes.
Fortunately, the taxi rank is covered by the upper floors of the station building. This meant I was sheltered from the rain, while I waited. During the wait, I pondered the irony that the one time I wanted a cab, there were none there, available. That's quite unusual for Bracknell train station. There's usually plenty waiting when the trains arrive. All of the sudden, I noticed this tiny, little, old lady, who had walked up and stood to my right. The rocket scientists were still at the wrong end of the queue. This old lady had gotten in queue behind me, seeing that I was at the front. Like me, she'd left the idiots down the other end to fend for themselves. She was carrying a little bit of shopping and I started wondering if I should let her take the first cab, when it arrived. It's too bad we weren't going the same place, then we could share it and split the cost. As I stood there, my curiosity grew. Where was she headed? Was it to anywhere near my house?
Eventually, a taxi approached, returning empty from dropping of a previous customer. The old lady saw it at the same time I did. She looked up at me and said, "this is your cab."
For some unknown reason, I overcame indecision and my strong tendency not to speak to strangers. I asked her, "where are you headed to?" It turned out she was going to the same street as me. She lived about fifty houses up the road. So, I suggested that we share the cab between us.
"Are you sure?" she inquired, in response. I reassured her that I was certain. What a wonderful outcome. I was able to get her on her way, so she wouldn't have to stand there and wait longer, while at the same time, getting my own journey home for half price. The driver dropped her off first, then me. As I paid him, my sheer joy at saving half the fare was interrupted by a tiny, negative thought. This was the second time I had helped a total stranger, in two days. Was there something wrong with me? Was I ill? Had I lost my mind? If news of this gets out, what will happened to my reputation?

A Bit of Chivalry

On Saturday, the 19th of April, I was traveling up to Withernsea, to do my radio show. I happened to be walking from Victoria Tube Station, in London, to Victoria Coach Station, to get a bus to Hull. As I started to cross the road, I noticed an attractive, blond, young woman, struggling with several pieces of luggage. She had so much stuff, I figured she must be travelling with someone else. Normally, I don't get involved. Hey! I'm a New Yorker. I keep my head down and mind my own business. This time, something caused me to break the habit of a lifetime.
My inertia carried me beyond the girl. I was one quarter of the way across the road, past her, but still looking back at her. I wondered if she could be alone. I don't know why I did, but I turned back. Maybe it was because I was still smarting from the twenty-something, oriental woman giving me her seat, previously. In any case, I approached this blond and asked, "are you going to the coach station?" Her response was a bit confused and she wasn't on the right side of the road for it, but I worked out that the answer was, "yes." Unfortunately for her, she was planning to head in the wrong direction. Fortunately for her, I wasn't a mugger, rapist, con man, or murderer.
Victoria Coach station is a little confusing, as it's spread over three buildings. She was heading toward the building where mostly local buses depart from. She needed to head to the departures building, for the long-distance services. I happened to be headed to the same place. I pointed out where she needed to go, then asked, "would you like me to help you carry your bags?" Enthusiastically, she said yes. I took one of her biggest bags, with built in wheels, and another, smaller bag. I hung the smaller bag from the extended handle of the bigger one. I still had my own shoulder bag, plus a shopping bag full of newspapers and food. We set off to the departures building.
Her bag on wheels was heavier than I thought and I was struggling with all I had to contend with. She spoke with an American accent, so I asked where she was from. Alaska was the answer. "You're only the second person I have ever met from Alaska," I said. No wonder this chick was so trusting. She was from the wilderness. I learned that she was a student, spending a semester in Europe. Having come to Britain from Germany, she'd spent a week in London and was now on her way north, to some university I'd never heard of. As I struggled with her heavy bags, I asked, "you haven't got books in here, have you?" After all, she was a self-confessed student. She denied that the contents contained literary matter, so I asked, "why have you got so much stuff?" Innocently, she informed me that she'd been buying all sorts of things as she travelled across Europe. "Do yourself a favor," I suggested, "and send some of this stuff home, by courier, or something." I couldn't imagine her managing on her own, with this load.
"I thought of doing that," she said, "but when I asked my parents, they said to just keep it with me."
Her parents probably didn't want to be bothered with all of her junk. "You haven't figured it out, yet, huh? Don't ask your parents, just send it." She seemed a bit clueless. Then I found out that she was only seventeen. No wonder she didn't know what to do. I told her she was pretty brave, traveling around Europe and doing a semester abroad, at seventeen, all on her own. She was earlier for her bus than I was for mine, so we chatted for a while, in the departures lounge. She explained that she'd finished high school early, which explained why she was doing a university semester abroad, at such a young age. Obviously, she was brainy, if not worldly. Something paternalistic in me had taken over. She was a year younger than my evil ex-stepdaughter, the Black Princess, was now, and even more blond. I gave her tips on Britain and advice, plus invited her to tune in to my radio show. Eventually, other girls near to her age, fellow students, started turning up. I noticed her looking at them and realised that she wanted to get to know some of them. I said farewell and shuffled off to my gate. I felt satisfied that I had helped a very deserving person. What's wrong with me? Am I getting soft as I get older, or what?